As I got off the plane at Sheretmyevo, I noticed something that would follow me through my entire week in Moscow – cigarette smoke. This place is a smoker’s paradise. The second thing I noticed was the airport is in much better shape than I had been led to believe. True, it is no O’Hare or Minneapolis-St. Paul, with their gleaming chrome and color-coded concourses, but neither is it Podunk Hollows Airstrip and Gun Club.
The passengers on my plane along with several others were herded down a set of chutes, until we found ourselves at the bottom of a long flight of stairs at passport control. I was helping a young mother from Arkansas who had the cutest baby girl. She had been on my flight, and I had gotten to speak with her at Shannon. She had married an American and was taking her baby back to show the grandparents. Everyone stood in loosely grouped lines behind a wide stripe painted on the floor. As the passport station in front of you clears, you move up. Neat, orderly, and doesn’t take as long as you might think. The other Americans on the plane were a couple going to visit their son who was working in Moscow, and at least 10-15 missionaries. They all stood out by their uniforms: black suit, tie, and white shirt.
After I reached the passport station, it only took about 30 seconds to go through, then I went on to the declaration section. Luckily I found an English form right away, filled it out, showed it to the lady (who made some marks and handed it back to me), and then I was waved through. I was finally in Russia!
I started making my way through the throng at the door. Dozens of people
were waiting there, many holding name signs. I slowly pushed my way through,
looking for Elena. I had almost reached the end of the line when
there she was, holding a rose and looking just like her photos – dark Tartar
skin, black hair, and hazel eyes. I stood there for a moment with my mouth
open. She said "Dzhimmy?", I said, "Krasavitsa" (Beautiful
lady), and we began hugging.
She led me out the door, past the men asking "Taxi?" Just outside the door I took my first photo with my new camera of her standing on the sidewalk. She took me to one of the small busses running to town. We had a very primitive conversation on the way into town, making heavy use of my pocket dictionary. Her voice was lovely, and sounded much richer in person than over a transatlantic phone call.
I saw very little of Moscow on the way in. My seat was too high, the windows too low, and I was concentrating on her. The sky was thick with lead-colored clouds, which made everything appear muted. That science-fiction feeling kept following me, as the small details kept tripping me up: signs with the wrong letters (cyrillic, not latin), strange voices and music coming out of radios. We arrived at the bus stop, crossed the street, and entered the metro.
The Moscow Metro is truly a marvel. I don’t know how much the tokens cost – every time we used the metro, she bought the tokens. I suspect I would have paid much more. We walked through the turnstiles and went down one of the steepest escalators I have ever seen. It is wonderfully efficient in bringing a large quantity of people as deep as possible as quickly as possible. In fact, the only way I can think it would be faster, is if they traded the escalator for a slide, or maybe a fireman’s pole. The metro was fast and fascinating. Every station was different. If I was going through Moscow alone, I would do it all by Metro. If I got lost, that would be part of the adventure. The Metro was also crowded. The problem with being efficient is that, once you become efficient, everyone wants to use you, which reduces your efficiency. It was here I had my introduction to the fine art of Russian shoving. You don’t do it aggressively or with hostility. You simply let the object of your shoving know that you will be moving there and they will move out of your way.
I quickly felt very much like krest’yanin -- a peasant, just wandered in from the fields, gazing slack-jawed at the splendor around him. It was during this trip under Moscow that I was first exposed to the stubbornness of the Russian female. She insisted several times on trying to carry my shoulder bag, since I was also carrying my pilot’s case. I kept telling her, "Nyet, nyet" and she kept giving me that tolerant look women give men when the man is trying to show how manly he is. (Well, maybe I was a little...)
We made a few transfers and wound up at the Kievskaya metro. After asking directions a few times, we finally made it to the Hotel Ukraina. This is one of Stalin's wedding cake buildings, an enormous structure that took us 5 minutes to find the entrance. I’m sure I embarrassed her terribly on the way there. I could not stop grinning, which is a very un-Russian way to be in the street. My Midwestern upbringing kept overriding my resolve to act Russian. I kept looking around, smiling, making eye contact with people. No wonder they think Americans are crazy.
Once we found our way inside we found ourselves in your typical European Grand Hotel lobby designed to impress a Tsar. Down a corridor to the left we found the registration area. Walking briskly to the Intourist desk, Elena started talking to the lady about my reservation. "Reservation? What reservation?" I went a few feet down the counter to exchange some money while Elena worked things out with the Intourist lady.
As I stood in line fumbling with my traveler's pocket, Elena came to me and said quietly, "Dzhimmy, you are not staying here. It is too expensive. You are staying at my flat." The price of the room was now $81/night. After some discussion, I convinced her that I really wanted to stay here for at least one night, then I would find another place tomorrow. (Although I didn’t tell her, I was too tired to think about going someplace else, and besides, I wanted some private time with her.) I got room 2610A, with a beautiful view of the lights of Moscow. When I stepped into the room, I had to tell myself to think European, not American. The room was much smaller than an American single motel room, very clean and neat. There was a small refrigerator, a desk with chair, a vanity, two chairs, and a very narrow single bed. The bedspread was something I'd never seen before. Instead of a top linen then blanket, the top linen made a pouch and the blanket was stuffed into this pouch so the top sheet and blanket were one.
I took this opportunity to give Elena the gifts I had brought over for her. She seemed especially pleased with the dress and immediately changed into it. I had run into one of the problems of long-distance tailoring, in that I made the hem a little short. Given the condition of her legs, however, it was not a problem from my point of view! She wore the dress several times during my visit, and made me promise to make her more dresses. I took this opportunity to take a shower and freshen up a bit. We spent some time doing some very intense cuddling, which was very nice after my long flight. Then she surprised me by reaching into her purse and pulling out a very large meal. I remember there was a pork roast, bread, and two different kinds of vegetable salad. The only thing she didn't have was something to drink, so we went to the market that was by the street just outside the hotel.
As I stepped outside into the brisk Moscow night air, I kept turning my head around to catch the sights. I looked up into the cool night sky, thinking of how beautiful it was, how beautiful Moscow is, how lucky I was to be here and have this beautiful woman on my arm...
... and almost tripped on a pipe that was laying on the sidewalk. I suppose that is the lesson of Moscow: while looking at the sky, don't forget to watch your feet.
To be continued...
